


npc

by Milk (FullMetalGuardian)



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Dont go to cathedral ward, Everyone Fucking Dies, Run, how thef uck are you respawning, who's the new guy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:41:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25663798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FullMetalGuardian/pseuds/Milk
Summary: So i wrote this a while ago, before I'd done all the reading into world lore that I've done now. So some of this is off-base, but idgaf.The idea behind this story was. What happens when an npc fights the player character and wins?Also scavengers were an original idea that aren't (as far as I know) in the game. I wanted true neutral characters for this, so, poof, i made them up.thanks for reading
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)





	npc

**Author's Note:**

> So i wrote this a while ago, before I'd done all the reading into world lore that I've done now. So some of this is off-base, but idgaf. 
> 
> The idea behind this story was. What happens when an npc fights the player character and wins? 
> 
> Also scavengers were an original idea that aren't (as far as I know) in the game. I wanted true neutral characters for this, so, poof, i made them up. 
> 
> thanks for reading

“Abigail,” Keith whispered, sidling beside me. I had been dozing under a cupboard near our central meeting spot. 

“Yeah?” I asked, blinking sleep out of my eyes. How long had I napped? 

“You been out?” he said.

“If you mean asleep, then yeah,” I sighed, “But if you mean scavenging, then no. Because I’ve been asleep.” 

“Right. Then you haven’t heard.” 

“Heard what?” 

“Don’t go near Cathedral Ward for a few hours.” 

“Giants?” I asked. I know there have been a few Brick Trolls and giants bearing enormous clubs and axes lumbering around that area for a long time. 

“No. A Hunter.” 

My skin crawled. 

My city is not safe anymore. 

“Which one? Eileen? Gehrman?” 

“Nobody’s seen Gehrman in forever. And Eileen only hunts other hunters now. No, this one is new. And he’s scary strong. You know that huge beast on the bridge? The one guarding the back entrance to Cathedral ward from Central?”

“Yeah. The huge one?” 

“That’s the one. New guy killed it. I saw its corpse not an hour ago.” 

My crawling skin writhed further. Deeper. 

Creatures that used to be my neighbors and friends stumble through the streets bearing torches and axes, pitchforks and shields. Their faces have grown thick, matted hair, and their bodies look more and more like beasts every day. Some of them have gotten freakishly huge. Some of them gained cosmic powers. We just call them beasts. 

But they are not hunters. 

A group of us are immune. Both to the plague that transforms the body and twists the mind, and to those men and women we used to call friends. They don’t attack us, and we leave them alone. 

Scavengers. That’s us. Masters at poking through houses of the dead or damned and pilfering their expired goods. 

Cheese. Hard bread. Meat lockers. 

We scour it all by the light of the moon, and by the light of candles, and by the light of torches, or by no light at all. 

“Right,” I replied. I hated hunters. “What about you?” 

“Phillip says he thought Daphne was over in that area. I’m going to find her and get her out.” 

“Do you want my help?” 

“Easier with less people, I figure. Sneak in, sneak out. Miss the hunter entirely.” 

“If you’re lucky.” 

“I’ll wait til he’s occupied with a giant.” 

I shrugged, noting the curass at his hip. 

“Don’t worry,” he said, scratching the thin hair on his scalp. “I know a bad idea when I see one. Think you’ll be here when I get back?” 

“Maybe,” I replied. “I was thinking of checking out Oedon’s Lane. There’s a few houses we haven’t found a way into yet.” 

“Careful,” he said, rising to his feet. “That’s Gascoigne’s territory. He likes us scavengers, but he’s been. . . hairy lately. Threatened to kill Phillip a while ago for knocking on lanterns.” 

“I’ll be careful,” I assured him. He nodded, lifted his torch and made his way out the door. I watched him carefully look both ways before scurrying out onto the flagstone corridor. Seconds later, he was gone. His footsteps were much quieter than the thumping, scraping sounds of the beasts. 

Once he was gone, I carefully withdrew my threaded cane from an umbrella stand nearby. It looked like an ordinary cane, but it hid a whip-like sword that I’d been practicing with since the moon first stubbornly refused to trade places with the sun. 

It had been a long, long night. 

I crept out the same door Keith had taken. Where he had ducked right, I curved left. Cathedral Ward and Oedon’s Lane weren’t opposite directions, but they took quite a different set of directions to reach. In fact, they were right next to each other, but the one gate that led from one to the other was closed and guarded closely by the hunter Gascoigne. Anyone wanting to go through would need to find the long way around. 

I swept past the mangy hounds that stood guard at a short bridge to the next street. They watched me with their bulging, green, diseased eyes, but didn’t growl or snarl. Their teeth had been filed down to needles, and their broken jaws hung open, limply dangling diseased tongues that sort of looked like sponges. 

On the other side of the bridge, I climbed a thin ladder past that creaky hanging lantern that had gone out a long time ago. In the early days of the Hunt, these lanterns showed scavengers whose houses were still being lived in, so we didn’t break in and steal things. But slowly, surely, the occupants either succumbed to the plague of beasts, or found themselves butchered under the hands of their old friends. 

There were a lot of these burned-out lanterns. 

I found my way to Oedon’s Lane. A few times, I had to duck behind abandoned carriages or into dim alleys to avoid some of the more feral beasts. The full-blown werewolves and the overdeveloped brick trolls just attacked anyone on sight, scavenger or no. But they weren’t especially attentive beasts—unwilling to leave their big sphere of control. 

Oedon’s Lane had been the most populated street at the beginning of the Hunt. As the people began to realize that the moon hung infinitely in the sky, the houses here had hung almost a dozen lanterns.  _ We are alive. We are not sick. Please do not loot our homes.  _

And we didn’t. We stuck to the houses abandoned and only took what we needed. We tried to leave precious heirlooms alone, because these things are precious whether the owner lives or not. Even a beast can recognize the value of love, of togetherness. They, too, leave these things be. 

But soon, the lanterns began to go out. One by one, the plague of beasts made its way in. Or they ran out of incense to keep the beasts out. Or they starved. Or they killed themselves as the night wore on and on and on and on and they realized that perhaps, the night would never end at all. 

Last time I was here, a single lantern had burned at the end of the street. When I’d knocked, only sniffles and moans could be heard on the other side. 

Now, the lantern was out, and the house was silent. 

That was the way of things. 

I lifted a crowbar out of my bag and looked up and down the lane. No movement. The nightcrawler weeds swayed in an invisible breeze. I blinked in the darkness, realizing that I had been creeping about in the dark like this without a torch for a very long time. I remembered the days when I’d needed a torch or a candle to get anywhere. Now, I just used the generous light from the big, pearly moon that looked close enough to touch. 

The crowbar got the door open. It always did. I hesitated, listening for sounds of scuffling or groaning. Neither struck my ears, and so I shouldered into the house, closing the door behind me and banishing myself to the pitch-blackness. 

“Hello?” I called. “Mr. Henry? It’s me, Abigail. Your lantern’s out, are you alright?” 

No answer. 

I shivered. I noted that I could still smell incense burning, and so the beasts themselves hadn’t got to him. But the undamaged front door had already told me that. 

That left the plague or starvation or suicide. The first too weren’t good--one meant that I’d be sharing his house while he stumbled about muttering about blood ministration and the church, and the other meant there was no food, and that his corpse was laying around. 

But if he’d killed himself, that meant I could eat his food. 

My stomach grumbled a little. I wasn’t starving myself--there was plenty of food to be had around town, you just needed to be clever enough to find it. But My stockpile was getting smaller, and to avoid starving, you had to be ahead of the game. 

I crept into the dark. 

It wasn’t long before my eyes adjusted enough to give me the shapes of objects in the room. Chairs, a table, the fireplace in the living room became apparent, and I walked right past them. Living rooms were where some of the heirlooms would be, and I didn’t want to bother them. 

Past the living room and up a couple steps was the kitchen. I found some canned food at the back of some cupboards, but left them there for now. Finding out how much is here will tell me how to get it all back. 

Around the corner from the kitchen were two sets of stairs. One up, one down. I went up. I made the same decision every time I was in a new house--upstairs would have windows to escape from, if someone came up and attacked from the basement. If I went down and someone came down and attacked from upstairs I’d be trapped. Always go up first. 

I was only halfway up the stairs when I smelled it. Blood. Not even rotten yet--it hadn’t taken on that powerful septic smell, yet. Just rich and hot in my nose. 

At the top of the stairs was Henry’s bedroom. I needed to be careful here, too. Heirlooms were all over people’s bedrooms. I slipped through the slightly-ajar door and into the room, glancing around for anything moving. 

First, I noticed the broken window, and I was on full alert, prodding the threaded cane on my back. Someone had forced acces  _ in.  _ The glass was on the floor in his room, not out on the street. 

But then I found Henry. Some hair had grown on his face—the plague of beasts had gotten to him, then. But the metamorphosis hadn’t completed. His hair was kempt and his clothes dapper. 

Except for the enormous gash through his shoulder, all the way down to his waist. He’d been cleaved in half. 

My fists tightened. A Hunter axe had done this. 

Was it the new hunter that Keith mentioned? No--he’d been in Cathedral Ward. Not close to Oedon’s lane. 

_ No. This is Gascoigne’s territory.  _

And Gascoigne fought beasts with the Hunter Axe. He was a hunter, yes, and for that reason alone, Abigail didn’t like him much. But the other Scavengers had always maintained an amicable relationship with him. They shared info with him when he killed the stronger, more dangerous feral beasts. And when he’d protected Phillip, the scavengers had vowed to leave his home—his wife and daughter—alone. 

But he’d broken into old Henry’s room. Scattered his heirlooms and slaughtered the old man. Not to steal food, but simply to kill. 

I grit my teeth. Bastard. Bastard. All hunters were evil. What had he gotten out of killing Henry? What was the point? The old man lived alone, didn’t hurt anyone, spent his time quietly. 

I left the room. There was no such thing as burials or funerals anymore, but leaving him with his things was the next best thing. I closed the door and crept into the basement. Henry’s food supply was bounteous and plentiful. Preserved fruits and vegetables in glass jars lined shelves above bags of potatoes, onions, rice, flour. Henry had been ready for a long, long night. 

_ Good.  _

I locked up the basement with a padlock I found in Henry’s drawer and dropped the key into my back pocket, which I buttoned closed. There aren’t any other scavengers in central besides our group, but I wanted to keep any wandering beasts out of Henry’s storage if I could. 

Plus, I didn’t want Hunters feeding themselves on Henry’s food. 

I closed up Henry’s house and made my way to Oedon’s Gate, at the end of the lane. Gascoigne spent a lot of time here, keeping people from using the huge entrance to get into Upper Cathedral Ward--not that there weren’t other ways. But it kept the beasts out, or so I’m told. 

I didn’t know what I was planning to do when I found Gascoigne. Or if I found him. But my wrath at Henry’s sudden murder was making me a little unreasonable. 

Two standing werewolves crouched in the corner over a corpse. They ignored me as I ascended the stairs to the gate. At the top of the steps was a big courtyard at the base of a church--exterior steps led to the roof of the church, where the large gate to Cathedral Ward rested. The courtyard was full of dead trees and tombstones for the hundreds of people who’d died of the plague of beasts before the sun set. The church’s walls were clung to by gargoyles and moss. 

The first thing I noticed was that the massive gate Gascoigne usually guarded was wide open for the first time since the sun had set. 

The second was a huge werewolf corpse slumped on a tombstone. It wore Gascoigne’s clothes and hat and held Gascoigne’s hunter axe. His body was sheared with huge, gaping wounds and long, deep cuts. His pockets were full of Blood Ministration Vials, the mysterious potions that Hunters used to keep strong during battle. 

_ He succumbed to the plague of beasts, too, then. And then someone killed him.  _

A ferocious battle had happened here. Tombstones were crushed and smashed, dead trees toppled. There was hardly a surface in the whole courtyard without bulletholes. Whoever killed Gascoigne was a brutal hunter. Was it Eileen? It was her forte to kill hunters once they succumbed to the bloodlust of the hunt, the beastliness within. 

But no--Eileen fought with the Blades of Mercy. They stabbed and gored, not slashed and tore. 

“Abigail.” 

I nearly screamed. I turned. 

“Philip!” I hissed. “By the Great Ones, I didn’t hear you coming.” 

“I’ve gotten good at sneaking,” he smiled. He gestured at Gascoigne’s corpse. “Who do you think did it?” 

I sighed, looking back at the corpse. 

“I was thinking it might be Eileen, but--” 

“Not Eileen,” he cut me off. “Eileen’s dead. Found her corpse at the entrance to the sewers. She was getting eaten by crows, believe it or not. Thought that was ironic.” 

My eyes widened. “What? She’s dead?” 

“Yep. No idea who did it. Maybe the same bloke who got Gascoigne here.” 

I shivered. Eileen was a hunter, and for that alone, I didn’t like her. But she mainly hunted hunters who had gone wild, and for  _ that,  _ she was almost forgivable. “Look at Gascoigne’s wounds--he looks like he’s been hit with a saw-spear. Check the gashes here. And here.” 

“By the old blood,” he muttered. His youthful, cheery face was somehow never daunted by the horrors of the unending night. “Same wounds as Eileen.” 

We sat in silence for a moment, the qualls of hunters beyond our grasp. 

“Did Keith find Daphne?” I asked. 

“Didn’t see either of them,” he shrugged. “I’d avoid Cathedral Ward, though. That New Hunter is there, taking down giants.” 

“Keith says he killed the Bridge Guardian,” I whispered, unable to take my eyes off the enormous werewolf Gascoigne had become. 

“Bet he killed Gascoigne and Eileen, too,” he replied. “We ought to be careful. Look, Gascoigne’s practically still bleeding. He hasn’t been gone long.” 

“Right,” I nodded. I cast a wary eye on Oedon’s Gate. Without Gascoigne to guard it, the New Hunter must have unlocked it and stepped right through into Cathedral Ward, where Keith had seen him earlier. 

And that, presumably, was also where Daphne and Keith were. 

“I’ve got a bad feeling brewing right about now,” Philip said. “That you want to go after Keith and Daphne.” 

“They might be in trouble,” I whispered. “What if he’s hunting them? Plenty of hunters just kill anything that moves.” 

“Yeah.  _ We  _ might get hunted. Because guess what, Abby?  _ We  _ count as ‘anything that moves’.”

“Keith would go looking for  _ you.”  _

“Keith is an idiot.” 

I stood up. “I’m going.” 

“I’m not,” he said. “Good luck, though.” 

I pulled my cane off my back. 

Philip looked at it as though he’d just noticed. 

“Is that a threaded cane?” 

“I thought you weren’t coming.” 

“That’s a hunter’s weapon.”

“Not anymore. It’s  _ my  _ weapon, and  _ I  _ am not a hunter.” 

He was silent. 

I was silent. 

I broke the silence. 

“Gascoigne killed Henry.” 

“Was he a beastie?” 

“Not yet. Broke in through the upstairs window and hacked him to death.” 

“You already looted it?” 

“Sorta. You can look around, but I’ve already claimed everything in the basement.” 

“So I can have what’s in the kitchen?” 

“I guess.” 

“Well. I’ll meet you and the others back in central, then. The others will be wondering where everyone’s been.” 

“Thanks,” I sighed. “Be careful.” 

“ _ You  _ be careful,” he said. “Seriously. That new hunter is dangerous. He’ll tear you apart.” 

“If I’m lucky, he’ll try to fight the Vicar at the Grand Cathedral,” I smiled. “And then he’ll be dead. Even Gascoigne didn’t want to fight  _ her.”  _

He chuckled darkly. “Probably the reason he was guarding this gate. I’ll see you around. Good luck.” 

I nodded, and we parted ways. I thumbed the cane, glancing around the courtyard. I noticed a small lamp hanging off a short hook planted in the ground. It looked like one of those Hunter’s lanterns. It glowed faintly purple and flickered shadows along the ground. I wasn’t sure what they were for--waypoints, maybe. But I knew the Hunters used them for something mystical. 

I hurried up the stairs to the top of the small cathedral and slipped through the massive Oedon’s Gate into Cathedral Ward. The normally consistent crashing sounds of the Giants’ footsteps made the whole neighborhood eerie. 

_ Maybe they’re staying at a local Lantern?  _ I wondered, and hurried along. I paused by an alley that lead into Central Cathedral Ward, where the Giants normally towered. Two of them had made their home here during this endless night, but now, both were entirely toppled. 

I crept to get a better view. Both of them were dead, their blackened eyes unseeing and their ankles sawed in half and their throats slashed open. Their funny tophats sat still a little ways away. 

_ This hunter is strong.  _

In the distance, I could see the Grand Cathedral. It rested at the top of the long flight of steps that weaved all the way through Cathedral Ward. Within it was Vicar Amelia, a well-known blood minstrator whose body twisted into an enormous fox demon. More than a few hunters had been slain by her, and if I was lucky enough, this new hunter would be too. 

Then, I heard someone shriek. A throat-tightening scream of horror and shock. 

“Daphne,” I whispered. It was her. I knew it. I took off down an alley and down some stairs. Around a bend and through a tunnel. 

I came to a sudden halt at a familiar corpse. It wasn’t Daphne or Keith. It was a hunter. Not one of the active ones, though. I think his name was Alfred. He wore the long white robes of the executioners. His eyes were open. His chest was cleaved wide open. 

I shuddered, rushing on. I had to find Daphne. 

The city was tight and compact, layered on top of itself, and Daphne was deep within it. “Daphne!” 

I nearly crashed into her. She was running the opposite direction, looking behind her as she ran. Her lithe figure skidded a bit to avoid me. “Abby! Abby! What are you  _ doing  _ here?” 

“Looking for  _ you!”  _ I said, “Where’s Keith?!” 

“Dead,” she gasped, “There’s—shot in the head—New hunter, never seen him before.” she was fanning her face, tears streaming down it. “He’s tracking me!” 

I grabbed her arm and tugged her back the way I came.  _ Keith was dead? I had just spoken to him an hour ago.  _

“We need to run,” I said. “Back to central. Are you hurt anywhere?” 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she gasped, “Let’s just--yes, let’s go. Please. Hurry. He’s coming.” 

We ran. Back through the tunnel, around the bend. Past Alfred’s corpse. Up some stairs and out the alley. 

Daphne came to a sudden halt behind me. I turned back to see true, twisted despair in her eyes. She was looking over my shoulder, into the courtyard where the giants lay dead. 

An unfamiliar figure stood menacingly among the corpses. He wore an unfamiliar hat that came to a point over his eyebrows, and a kerchief that covered his face except for his eyes. He carried a saw cleaver and the hunter blunderbuss shotgun. 

“Th-that’s him,” Daphne whispered. “Oh, by the old blood. I’m scared, Abigail.” 

I took a shuddering breath. He stood between us and the gate back to Oedon’s lane. 

I noticed a golden locket hanging from his fist, where he clutched the saw cleaver. 

“That’s. . . that’s Vicar Amelia’s locket,” I whispered. 

“No,” Daphne said, “No. Impossible. He didn’t kill her.” 

There was a beat of silence. 

The hunter chuckled. Then he took a step towards us. 

I pushed Daphne behind me. “Stay here,” I said. 

I pulled my threaded cane free from its case. The blade slithered out, drooping to the floor. 

The new hunter began walking towards me. He snapped his trick cleaver open, extending its range. 

“You killed Keith?” I asked. 

The hunter was silent. 

“You killed Gascoigne,” I said. 

He remained silent. 

“You killed  _ Eileen,”  _ I accused. 

“And you are next,” he said, his voice whispery and fluid. 

And then he struck. 

He swung the saw-cleaver over his head, and I barely dodged sideways in time. I tried to duck near him, but then I was staring right down the barrel of that Blunderbuss. I only nearly twirled away before that gun  _ blasted  _ past my face. 

I raised my threaded cane, whipping the blade through the air, and I caught the side of his head with a bladed-lashing. 

He stumbled aside, feeling his head as blood began to pour out freely, but he just looked at me darkly before flicking his saw-cleaver closed. Tightening his range. 

I raised the whip again, but he got close  _ fast.  _ I barely cringed aside as the serrated, blood-letting blade tore past me. I backed away, trying to lure him away from Daphne--If I could get her an opening, and she escaped, then I didn’t need to kill the New hunter. I could just escape along behind her, somehow. 

My breaths were already getting ragged. 

“Why are you doing this?” I asked, taking another step back and closing the cane. It tightened from a whip back into a thin sword. “What have scavengers ever done to you?” 

He didn’t reply. 

Instead, he angled the Blunderbuss at my head. 

I dodged yet another explosion from the weapon, darting at him with my blade. He cut sideways, curling the cleaver right at my ribcage. 

_ It’s serrated. I can’t block. I can only dodge and strike.  _

I was at a tremendous disadvantage. This hunter had already slain Eileen, Gascoigne. He’d slain the giants of Cathedral ward. He’d slain the Bridge Guardian. All in the space of a few hours. What was I compared to all that? 

I trembled, watching the blood drip from his head. 

_ Are you exhausted yet? When do you get tired of killing?  _

But I knew the answer to that. Hunters killed and killed and killed and killed. That was one of the reasons I hated them so much. To many of them, all were beasts to be slain. 

Like this one. To him, I was just another beast in the street. I was just another brick troll. Just another mange hound. 

“No!” I yelled, twisting around the saw cleaver and diving in close. Too close. Close enough to kiss his cheek. 

Or stab it. 

He shoved me away before my blade could divide his soul from his body, and as I found my footing to dart in close again, I again found the blunderbuss in my face. 

No time to dodge. No time to strike. 

_ Click.  _

The gun didn’t fire. And I reacted instantly, driving my blade straight into the new hunter’s heart. 

He stumbled back, his eyes widening, staring down at his chest as I tore the blade free. 

He dropped his weapons, falling to his knees. He stared at me, then at the hole in his heart. 

Then he collapsed. 

I let out a long breath. 

_ No way.  _

I had killed him. 

“Abby!” Daphne squealed. “How! Did you do that?!” 

“I got. . .  _ really  _ lucky,” I whispered. “He ran out of quicksilver bullets. Must have spent a lot on the Bridge Guardian. And Gascoigne.” 

“He killed  _ Gascoigne?”  _

“Just to get through Oedon’s gate, I think,” I breathed. My heart was thundering in my chest. I had just stared death in the face. 

Before Daphne could reply, the hunter’s body began to dissolve. The ground around him turned gray and syrupy, broiling for an instant as it swallowed his corpse. Then, the flagstones returned to normal, and his body was gone. 

I blinked. Daphne was shocked silent. 

“What just happened?” I asked. 

“I don’t know. He disappeared,” Daphne said. “Was he a foreigner?” 

“I think so. Have you seen that before?” 

“No, but I think it has something to do with those lanterns. The purple ones?” she said. “I don’t know.” 

My skin curled. I  _ hated  _ Hunters. 

“Let’s get out of here,” I said. “Just to be safe.” 

I took her by the hand and rushed out of Cathedral ward as quickly as I could. We hurried down the long, winding steps, all the way down to Oedon’s Lane, at the base of the small cathedral where Gascoigne’s corpse still slumped. 

“Abby?” 

I nearly screamed again. At the bottom of the steps, Philip smiled up at Daphne and I. 

“You found her! What about Keith? Did you run into the new hunter? You’ve got blood all over you, Abby.”

I breathed an easy sigh. “Keith. . . is dead. But we’re safe. Let’s get home, then we can talk.” 

Philip’s eyes were wide, and then he looked away. “Oh. By the blood. Keith. Oh. Okay. May--maybe I  _ should  _ have come with you. . .” 

I shook my head. “I was too late, too. Let’s just go. We can talk when we--” 

_ BOOM _

Philip’s head exploded. Brains spattered the cobblestone brick walls, bits of skull landing in clumps with skin and hair on the steps. His eyes dangled forward out of his head before he collapsed, facedown on the flagstone stairs. 

Daphne was screaming. 

Down at the violet lantern near Gascoigne’s body, a figure held a smoking hunter pistol, aimed right at us. 

No.

I saw his face. His eyes bulged in gleeful reverie. 

There was a long cut on the side of his head that no longer bled, but was obvious in the pale moonlight. There was a hole in his clothes directly over his heart. 

_ No.  _

“It’s--it’s  _ him,”  _ Daphne screamed, “It’s the same one!” 

It was the New Hunter. 

He strode across the courtyard, his eyes never leaving mine. 

“What--what,” I stuttered. “No! No!” 

The hunter strode up the steps. We backed away. My heart was pounding, my blood screaming.  _ How? How? He died, he was  _ dead.  _ I killed him! I stabbed his heart! He died!  _

But this was undoubtedly the same creature. 

And he was not waiting for me to swallow his existence. His saw cleaver snapped open, ready to strike. I leapt backwards, trying to pull Daphne alone with me, but she was petrified, frozen in place. 

The Cleaver came down on top of her, shearing her body open from her collar to her hip. She screamed, her arms frantically scooping at her insides-now-outside. Her legs flailed and she shrieked for me to  _ help her.  _

My blood ran cold. My eyes watered a little, but I drew my cane. 

“How  _ dare  _ you?” I grit my teeth, staring this animal in the eyes. “What is all this to you? An excuse to slaughter as much as you can? You don’t see the difference between good and evil? You just hunt and kill? You’re  _ pathetic!”  _

He snarled, lunging closer. He directed the pistol at my face, but I knew full well he’d sacrificed accuracy for range by switching from the blunderbuss. If I could stay in his face, keep him off-balance, I’d kill him. I’d kill him again. I’d kill him as many times as I needed. 

I clapped the cane against his temple, drawing new blood. He staggered back, his eyes bulging and enraged, but that was nothing compared to  _ my  _ rage.  _ My  _ wrath. 

I bore down on him. His cleaver was still folded outward, in range orientation. I didn’t give him the chance to recoil it. I slammed him with attack after attack, parrying away his pistol when he tried to raise it. 

He backed down the steps in a sudden roll, just barely out of range. His cleaver snapped in, and then I’d closed the gap.  _ No. No. You die.  _

Daphne was still screaming, 

He pulled the trigger on his pistol. It wasn’t aiming at me, but it still made me lurch. 

_ A feint.  _

He took advantage of my broken stride to lean in and  _ slash  _ with that gods-forsaken cleaver. 

It connected with my left shoulder, tearing out a chunk of flesh as big as my fist. I shrieked, stumbling forward, plunging wildly with my cane.

And it connected. 

My blade dug through his eye, skewering his head. 

He screamed and snarled, dropping his pistol and cleaver. 

I stared in surprise.  _ Another lucky hit?  _

His mouth foamed for a moment before he heaved out his dying words. 

“You  _ bitch _ . You better  _ run.”  _

And then he collapsed, dead once again. 

I withdrew my cane from his head, wincing in searing agony as my shoulder bled and spurted blood into the air. 

I screamed into the night. The pain was thrashing, intense. I could see my collarbone and shoulder joint, both soaked in gore, both chipped and damaged from his cleaver. 

I fell to my knees at Daphne’s side. She was dead. Keith, too. There was nothing I could do for either of them. I was too weak. I was just a scavenger. 

I coughed, flinching and wincing at my shoulder. By the old blood, I was going to die. 

I needed Blood Ministration. The idea made my mind spin, because none of the scavengers had taken blood before. It was what kept us immune from the plague of beasts, it was what kept us safe from the beasts themselves. 

_ To take blood ministration was to become a hunter.  _

But if I didn’t, I would bleed out and die right now. 

I groaned in rage. In disorientation. In fear. 

_ The clinic. Iosefka’s clinic does ministrations. That’s in central. I just need to get there.  _

I clenched my eyes shut, wishing I had a rag to put in my mouth to scream into. To bite with everything I had. 

And when I opened my eyes, I couldn’t help it. I screamed, bloody and horrified. 

The hunter’s body was dissolving again. 

I screamed. I shrieked at the low-hanging moon.  _ No. No. He can’t come back again. I’ve killed him twice. I’ve beaten him. It’s not fair. It’s twisted and wrong.  _

I stumbled to my feet, staggering down the stairs. I left keith behind. I left Daphne behind. I left Philip behind. 

_ If I get to the clinic, Iosefka might protect me. She’s always offered to do it. If I can just make it.  _

I made my way through the battle-stricken courtyard. Past Gascoigne’s body. I made it out past the werewolves digging into the corpse. Onto Oedon lane. 

My vision was getting hazy. Oh, gods. I needed to rest. I wasn’t going to make it all the way to the clinic. How could I? It was across the city. 

_ Henry’s house. I can rest there. He might have medicine.  _

I blinked, trying desperately to conjure the memory of where Henry had lived--but my vision was swaying. My hands, shirt, arm, legs, were all covered in blood. 

I stumbled, falling to my knees in front of his door. I crawled a few steps. Blood pooled below me.  _ No. No. I  _ won  _ that fight. He’s dead, and I’m alive. Please. Please!  _

_ clack clack clack clack _

No. No. 

Footsteps. 

“Hey.” 

A kick crashed into my side, and I was rolled over to look up at the moon, and the face of my nightmare staring down at me.

The New Hunter crouched down, staring right into my eyes. I tried to raise my cane, but he slapped it aside. 

I felt the cold steel of the Hunter Pistol press against my temple. There was some cold dew on it. 

I could tell he was grinning through his scarf. “Got you this time _.”  _

He pulled the trigger. 

**Author's Note:**

> hi thanks for reading my bullshit nonsense have a good day


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